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Fallen Warriors
This story is dedicated to all we have lost or may have lost already. Burn, Golden, all the others... And to those we might lose. Spyro, Luster, Aiden, Matau... Maybe myself. But everyone else deserves the dedication. Not me. '' ''I'm sad for those who we have lost and who we might lose, so I dedicate this to you. And no words can describe how much I miss you. ~ Missing you... Whitey Chapter One He was away. Maybe he could've stopped it. Maybe he could've helped. All he knew now was it was over. Fawkes poked his nose into a clump of ferns. Snapping up a beetle, he lifted his sneak and sniffed the air. He tilted his head curiously as smoke and something darker touched his nose. He shrugged, thinking it was just a SkyWing or a MudWing that rolled in something that turned out to be worse then mud. He shuddered at the very thought. He stepped forward, and suddenly the smell faded. He halted, frowning in confusement. How could a MudWing move that quickly? He backed out, then spread his wings and flew towards where he thought the scent was. The trouble was, he was a while away. After a few hours of flying, he hovered in midair... Looking at a wasteland. A black sheet, split in places with gold and orange, covered the land. He had a gauge feeling, but he didn't know what it was. Fawkes glided slowly over the barren landscape. Somehow, he knew that it wasn't always like this. He knew it was supposed to be different. He simply didn't know why. Blinking, he slowly flapped his wings, watching everything carefully. He slowly landed on a solid patch of ground. His mind clicking slowly as he recognized landmarks. Then it hit him. The landscape. It was his parent's section of AviWing territory. They, with all the others that lived there, were gone. And now a thin sheet of obsidian covered everything. He landed feeling limp and useless, watching the area. Not knowing how it happened. Since when had a volcano come? Not since he'd last been there. Which was less than two months ago. He sighed, his chest rattling hollowly and his wings dropping uselessly. His gaze, once so bright, was suddenly completely dull. Without anything else to do, he spread his wings and lifted off, letting the wind guide him forward. He didn't know what to do next. He was too hollow to think straight. What he did know was there was no body to bury. No way for a funeral. Sadly, he glided away, landing on a charred, twisted tree. His mind was in chaos, trying to absorb what he'd just seen. His family. His territory. Gone. All gone. He didn't know where to go. He felt like he was tied, tethered to the molten area. One part of him said to search for clues. The other said to simply stay there. Until he was claimed too. At this thought he shook himself violently. No. No one would want me to fall. I don't want me to fall. I shouldn't fall. For the sake of my tribe. '' His tribe. Which was edging close to extinction, with so many dead. He lifted his head to the stars, gazing upwards with unfathomable eyes. ''Are you up there? He asked silently. Can you still see me, even though I can't? Are you in a better place now? Who did this to you? He put his head down, sighed, and lifted off again. Beating his wings strongly, he was, for a split second and the first time in his life, furious at being an AviWing. Then he wouldn't have all this grief. He dismissed the thought. No. Everyone had pain once in their lives. Just in different ways of intensity. He sighed. Soon out of sight of the wasteland, he landed in a soft patch of grass. Curling his wings closer to him, he put his head on his talons and closed his eyes. He pressed his palms to his eyes as images flashed before his closed lids: screaming dragons, fire engulfing everything. A tiny dragonet was swallowed in flames. A pair of AviWings, watching it, flung themselves after it. Killing themselves in a vain attempt of rescue. He sobbed quietly, then pulled his talons off. He looked at the sky again. "Where are you?" He whispered. "Can you hear me? Are you still there?" He blinked, a tear flattening the tiny feathers on his cheek. "I hope you're in a better place. No wars for you. No hunger, no starvation." He smiled to himself. "All the jokes and games one could play." He pulled up a piece of grass, memories crowding his thoughts. He thought of a rather funny one. He remembered that one time his parents had brought him a scroll. It was a silly one, about a dragon who was always puffed up so it looked like he would explode. All of the other dragons tried to fix him. In the end, he then always looked surprised and hungry, as if waiting for a llama to jump out of a dragon skin and dance around for him. He smiled again. Then he looked at the split grass stalk and sighed. He pressed the heel of his hands against his black eyes, pressing so hard that red starbursts appeared behind his closed lids. He sighed sadly, one more thought crossing his mind. He could officially say that this day was the worst of his life. Chapter Two A tiny black shape clung to the slope of the charred mountain. It's feathered wings charred a darker black, it blinked scared, blue eyes at the scene. Where had everything gone? How had it vanished so fast? He swished his fluffy small tail, sighed, and sat down. Whitefoot had gone hunting. And he'd returned to see this wasteland. This wasteland that was once his home. He gave a shuddering sigh, then immediately started coughing, the ash chocking his breath. When he finally stopped, he gazed around. Looking for any other sign of life. His eye caught a red movement, and he watched it. It was too big to be another cat. But then it flew into the air, and Whitefoot sucked in his breath in sudden fear. It was a dragon. And he knew he was a tasty little snack to dragons. But before he hated away, he hesitated. The dragon wasn't looking for food. It was staring at the landscape, mouthing something. Whitefoot didn't move. The black cat simply watched the dragon. And in that moment, he felt a deep connection form. He stared, and when the dragon lifted away, wings spread, Whitefoot hesitated and followed suit, flapping slowly to keep up but out of sight. All the while, he was deep in his own thoughts, wondering if he'd seen this dragon before. Whitefoot didn't think he had. The cat looked to the sky, watching the stars. "So then why do I feel connected with him?" He muttered. Chapter Three Fawkes used a claw to pat down his slightly charred bedding. It was stiff, and rather dry, but compared to the rocky ground he'd been walking over, it was like sleeping on the soften skin imaginable. He settled down, curled into a circle, closed his eyes, and began to dream. ~ ~ ~ ~ A small figure runs in front of him. Fawkes looked around the dark tunnel, his huge wings brushing the sides. "This way!" The figure calls. Fawkes willingly follows, trusting the figure. A roar is heard. The figure turns backwards, blue eyes wide with fear. "Hurry! We don't have much longer! We can fly out up ahead!" Fawkes printed forwards. The lava did too. ~ ~ ~ ~ Category:Fanfictions Category:Fanfictions (Fanon) Category:Fanfictions (Incomplete) Category:Content (Whitefoot&Tigerstripe)